Disclaimer: I do not own Hellsing, but I wish that I did. I'd be very rich and happy.

** =noted/further explained at the bottom of the page

Civilities

I.

Seras couldn't remember the last time she had been quite so anxious.

Yes, her corset was simply too tight and her bust was showing too much for her liking, but such small wardrobe malfunctions didn't matter. The pale blue dress her mother had pulled from her wardrobe was older (and still in fashion, thank you), however Seras found she could overlook it. Her satin slippers were rather faded, but no one's gaze would be lingering on her feet for long. And while she did indeed have to settle with more flowers instead of diamonds, but such trivialities had never worried her before.

Seras smiled at her reflection in the full-length mirror, sparing it an uncharacteristically girlish twirl and giggle. She pinched her cheeks and bit her lips for a quick pop of color and smiled at the results. However she couldn't help but frown. This doll, with her smooth blonde hair, delicate silk gloves, and painted face was beautiful, but she was not the Seras Victoria she knew. However, it would do for the night.

The Victoria family had finally been invited to a highly-anticipated ton* ball, complete with ballroom dancing, floor masters, aristocrats, visiting nobles and the like at Woburn Abbey. Her mother practically swooned when the invitation had been delivered two weeks ago, and her father had nearly thrown his back out by taking up so many new cases in order to purchase the newest fashions for the event. Being formally accepted in to polite society was an investment that would pay well for itself over time.

Seras personally thought her family was well-off enough with their upper-middle class social standing, but the perks of having connected connections were impossible to ignore. It was a big night for her family, and Seras was obligated to perform her duty regardless of how she felt about the matter. It was just sad, Seras thought absentmindedly, that her only appreciated duty was no more than entertaining stately suitors.

There was a quick knock at her door before it was flung open. Seras started and dropped her hairbrush, cringing when it hit the ground with a sharp thud. Oh dear, she hoped its delicate silver back hadn't shattered – it was one of the nicer things that she owned. Her mother, thank god, hadn't seemed to notice.

"Seras, have you seen Edith? The carriage is waiting, and I haven't even had the time to choose her brooch…" The frantic woman wasted no time and brushed past her eldest daughter in search of the youngest. Seras couldn't help but laugh.

"Don't fret, mother. I helped her dress quite a bit ago – I believe she's using the mirror in the water closet to apply rouge." Seras smiled as she reached for her shawl and fan. Her mother wasn't usually so excitable, but this evening was an exception. Mrs. Victoria practically threw her hands up in the air in frustration at the news, but settled for raising them halfway past her bosom at the last moment. Anything more would have creased her silk sleeves.

"Rouge? Rouge! What business do respectable young ladies have with rouge?" Her mother practically wailed in exasperation, swiftly turning on her heel and practically hopping out of the room. Seras couldn't hold in her laughter.

"Mother, Caroline assured me that all the other ladies were wearing it!" Edith must have overheard and stood outside the water closet with the offending lip color in hand.

"Oh yes, and I'm certain Miss Caroline would assure your suitors that she would never be so vulgar as to even think to apply such rubbish!" Mrs. Victoria's counterattack was strong, and after a few more feeble protests Edith relented and washed away the rouge. Seras watched the exchange with a smile, happy to be out of her mother's horse blinders for the first time in a long time. The thought was bittersweet, but Seras had accepted it. She was approaching the status of an old maid, after all.

If the Victoria family wanted to move up in London society – and by God their mother did – then one of the sisters would have to marry quite well. As respectable (and wealthy) members of the upper-middle class, their family was on the cusp of being accepted into the gentry. However, Seras was nineteen and unmarried. It was a death sentence in more than one place in upper society.

What irritated her mother most about the fact was that two years ago Seras had been avidly pursued by plenty of well-to-do suitors – and still was by those that hadn't already married. She had everything a man of the lower gentry or upper middle class could want: beauty, manners, a relatively known family name, a plump dowry, and a respectable reputation.

But Seras was one of those unfortunate "romantics." She didn't want to marry for status or money, but for love. She said she found a majority of her suitors too unkind, too crude, or too unrefined to marry; or, that's at least what she told her father when her rejections came to light at the dinner table. While both Seras and her mother knew the real reason, they also knew that with each passing year any attention directed toward Seras would dwindle until it had been totally turned toward a younger, prettier debutante. Apparently men couldn't wait forever. but Seras was certain that love could.

Seras fingered the tarlatan of her long, pale blue dress. It suited her by bringing out the fairness of her skin and the blue of her eyes, but she had to admit that it paled in comparison to Edith's ball gown. It had been tailored specially for her by one of the most sought after seamstresses, and was where the bulk of earnings from their father's extra cases had gone. Edith had only just turned seventeen the previous month and was considered ripe for the picking.

"Seras…" Edith asked playfully as they followed their mother down the polished mahogany staircase.

"Yes, Edith?" Seras giggled, shoving both their shawls and Edith's fan in her sister's arms. Edith huffed in melodramatic indignation before making a show of hurrying down the last flight to block Seras' way.

"Don't I look marvelous?" Edith drawled in the exaggerated, haughty accent that she and Seras used to mock the patronizing men their father represented in court. Seras burst out laughing and ignored her mother's shush from the drawing room, pushing Edith out of the way before taking the time to really get a good look at her younger sister.

"Oh Edith… you're so beautiful!" Her sister's long, flowing white and red bustled muslin gown was centered by a fashionable yet acceptable neckline that was studded with hints of glimmering rubies and diamonds. Her glossy dark brown locks had literally been in ribbons for days to achieve the perfect curls, and her up-do was beyond perfection. Seras felt a tinge of envy, but quickly brushed it aside.

It was Edith's turn to shine, and Edith had no qualms when it came to courting men she had no real interest in.

"Thank you, Seras! And you look as gorgeous as usual!" Edith fingered the tarlatan of Seras' dress lightly before stepping away. "It's a wonder why you have yet to be married." She murmured wistfully, handing Seras her shawl as their mother and father entered the foyer. Seras couldn't help her frown.

Comments on her lack of a husband always upset her more than they should have, for she was certainly used to them by now. But it was true that she was approaching an age where there were fewer and fewer gentleman asking to sign her card*, and fewer a chance of her being able to marry for love. If their family was to climb the social ladder, they certainly couldn't have a spinster with the Victoria family name. It was a shame, a disgrace, and totally unacceptable. It was a subject that made Seras horribly uncomfortable, anxious, and guilty.

In this case, it seemed more logical to emphasize Seras' appearance, but attracting suitors was not her problem. It was the courtship that always led to an inevitable rejection on her part. Mrs. Victoria was of the opinion that Seras had certainly already had her chance to choose a "loving" husband, and needed to pick from what she had left. Edith was a flower ready to blossom, and everyone agreed that it should be a wealthy, respectable young man who picked her. It was Edith's turn to take center stage.

"Come, the night waits for no man!" Mrs. Victoria was a great fan of melodramatic romance novels, and unfortunately the dialogue had begun to rub off on her. Their small family had finally assembled themselves in the foyer.

Mr. Victoria, a tall man with a stern face and soft eyes, shook his head with a tolerant smile as he moved to take his greatcoat from the butler. Mr. Victoria was a retired detective turned high-rise attorney, and through his experience with law enforcement protocol was able to easily rid his clients of pesky lawsuits. Mr. Victoria never charged more than his fair share, much to his wife's discontent, and was in turn held in high regard by his clients. It helped that these clients were well-respected members of the landed gentry and aristocracy.

"Shall we?" Mr. Victoria asked, sweeping the long coat over his superfine waistcoat. Mrs. Victoria dutifully took his arm with a happy hum.

After she wrapped her thin silver shawl over her shoulders and gave Edith a well-deserved deck on the head, Seras followed her parents out of the entrance hall, down the front steps, and in to the awaiting carriage.

Seras had a vague sympathy for sardines during those carriage rides, but always enjoyed the conversation and the atmosphere of them. The carriage was reserved specifically for Mr. Victoria's work and special occasions. She couldn't help but feel a bit of a princess.

The trip to Woburn Abbey thankfully took no longer than two hours, a fact both Seras and Edith were thankful for when their mother began to remind them of their etiquette and dancing do's and don'ts. The topic was cut short when the party was five minutes away from the abbey and Mrs. Victoria discovered a distressingly misplaced stitch on Mr. Victoria's waistcoat.

"Seras, you shall never guess the secret Caroline shared with me at tea." Edith took advantage of the opportunity and giggled behind her fan. Seras rolled her eyes.

"I can only imagine what she could've possibly mislead you toward this time!" Caroline Binsworth was one of Edith's treasured gentle-born friends, and in turn treasured Edith like a housemaid. However while Caroline was rather plain, and Edith was a bird of prey and naturally attracted some of the most handsome young men in the room. Caroline was intelligent enough to use such a friend to her advantage.

"I beg your pardon! Caroline spoke that the Duke invited a high-ranking Wallachian nobleman, and he accepted the invitation!" Edith had a familiar look on her face. Seras could see where this was going. "I'm so excited to see him! Have you ever seen anyone from Eastern Europe? How romantic it must-"

"What do you mean by 'see?' If you're so enchanted, why merely settle with sight? Why don't you," Seras paused for a dramatic effect and leaned in close, her blue eyes wide, "introduce yourself?"

"Seras!" Edith hissed, snapping her fan none-too-gently against her sister' wrist as Seras burst into laughter.

"Edith!" Mrs. Victoria snapped to attention at the sight of unladylike behavior. Apparently the seam situation had been resolved.

"Mother!" Edith whined as they approached the manicured grounds of the manor.

"I'll have none of that tonight, thank you very much! You girls were not raised to be girls, but ladies, and I'll take nothing less than such! There are a number of esteemed individuals who shall be in attendance tonight, and I expect both of you to make the most of such an opportunity." She cast a non-too-discreet glance at Edith. Seras wasn't sure whether to be insulted or relieved.

"Seras, after mass last Sunday Mr. Thornsbury specifically inquired if you would be attending this ball." Mrs. Victoria suddenly diverted the conversation from Edith to Seras. One sister's shoulders relaxed and the other's tensed. Seras couldn't hide her frown at the blatant hint.

Mr. Thornsbury was one of her father's associates and represented another law firm on the other side of London. He had long been one of her most faithful suitors, and never seemed to be off put by any cancelled plans or returned bouquets. It wasn't that he was particularly mean or ugly, or that he smelled or had killed someone. Mr. Thornsbury was, however, only ten years younger than her father and a good twenty five years her senior. He was only a little taller than her, quite a bit rounder, and his breath always smelled like peanuts.

"Mr. Thornsbury is a highly respected attorney. He does you a great honor; an honor to which I have yet to see you deserve." Mrs. Victoria growled as the carriage halted under the canopied entrance of the sterling white mansion. Before Seras had a chance to retort the door was opened and her father was stepping down to help her mother out.

Seras didn't resent Mr. Thornsbury. He was actually a very kind man with a good sense of humor, and despite their age difference they always managed to have some sort of interesting conversation. No, Seras disliked what Mr. Thornsbury represented: settling.

By marrying Mr. Thornsbury, Seras would be settling for a marriage without passion, without undying love. Oh yes, they always said that love would come later, but how could they really be sure – and who were they to being with, anyway? Seras also highly doubted that Mr. Thornsbury would approve of her dreams and aspirations. She'd have no choice but to give them up, and resign herself to hoping that she could one day publish something under a male pen name once her husband passed. She grimaced at the thought – how depressing.

"I will find this prince by the end of the night, Seras." Edith swore once the carriage had disappeared in to the night and they were following their parents into the mansion.

"How are you so sure he's a prince?" Seras humored her as they and their mother split from their father to enter the marbled ladies' dressing room. While their family was fashionably late and were the only guests present in the chamber, the sweet fragrances of expensive perfumes and oils still lingered in the air.

"Oh Seras, don't you read the print? Wallachia is losing its standing and will soon be swallowed up by that kingdom next to it!"

"…you mean Moldavia?"

"Yes, yes, Moldavia. They're an absolute mess; the only ones who could ever afford to escape have to be royalty." Edith sighed as the chambermaid whisked their shawls away into the cloak room. She and Seras left the dressing room for the long hall to wait for their father, as was proper. The ladies took a seat on a stiff Versailles settee outside the gentlemen's apartments.

"How do you know you won't end up meeting a king instead?" Seras asked quietly, afraid one of the passerby would hear. The ballroom, dining room, and refreshment room were all located at the very end of the hallway, and once the sisters had left the dressing room they had seen many more people.

"Then I'd say I'd like to be queen!" Edith retorted without even bothering to try to be inconspicuous. A few passing couples cast a curious glance in their direction, and Seras couldn't hold down her blush.

"Edith!" Seras scolded. Edith rolled her eyes and looked away, only to immediately stand and wave at someone down the hall.

"Oh, there's Caroline!" Edith sing-songed, picking up her skirts to shuffle toward the leader of a well-dressed group of young people. "Caroline, how good it is to see you…!" Her bubbly voice faded as she neared the group and was engulfed by it.

And just like that, Seras found herself sitting alone on the settee outside the gentlemen's apartments.

The ball was quite a success.

The refreshments were deemed delicious, the music of the highest caliber, and the atmosphere as joyful as could possibly be. From what Seras could see, Edith was having the time of her life! Her card had been quickly filled with the names of up-and-coming young gentlemen and despite none being her mysterious Wallachian prince, her smile never faded and her eyes never lost their sparkle.

Seras grinned from where she sat next to her mother on the side of the ballroom, her gaze following her sister. Her younger sister's smile was so infectious, and she truly seemed to be enjoying herself! And it was well that she should be. She had the charm, grace, beauty, and personality to be the belle of the ball. Seras felt a pang of jealousy, but quickly brushed it aside. She was happy for her sister, and such trivial things like collecting suitors had never interested her.

Besides, it wasn't as if she had been sitting the entire night.

Seras had danced the first dance with none other than Mr. Thornsbury, and her father had claimed the second. She was lucky enough to have the third with her long lost childhood friend, Pip Bernadotte, and then with one of his "business associates."

No matter what Pip thought of her, Seras wasn't stupid. She knew that Pip had taken up several questionable occupations almost as soon as he had graduated from Oxford, although when she had accidentally learned of the fact she hadn't been much too surprised. Why else would a Frenchman spend so much time in England?

Aside from the fact, it had still been lovely to see him and Seras had missed him very much. But then his associate had needed him, and after giving her a sheepish smile he let himself be pulled away. So now she was sitting next to her mother, not quite sure what to do next. She was getting bored, but it didn't seem like she would have that luxury for long.

Seras had only just turned to admire the craftsmanship of one of the paintings on the wall behind her when she felt it. It wasn't so much a presence than a feeling, a subconscious sixth sense's goose bump-inducing warning of danger. She felt a shadow cast over her, and her shoulders involuntarily tensed under its dark caress. Her mouth went dry and she licked her lips, like wood over sandpaper.

It took so much to simply turn around. There was an absurd fear that suddenly struck her, and begged her to flee before it was too late. But that would've been rude, and this was an aristocrat's ball. There was nothing to fear here.

And standing before her was nothing to fear. If anything, it was something to giggle about on the carriage ride home. A tall, broad-shouldered man with glimmering lengths of black hair and lily white skin was bent at the waist with her mother's hand in his palm. Though he was impeccably dressed in a glossy superfine-dress coat, the impressive golden strings of rubies that surrounded his white necktie hinted at gaudiness. In fact there was something about this man, from the oversized ruby thumb ring on top of his white kid gloves to the onyx walking stick crowned with a gold wolf's head, that was ominous.

"It is a pleasure." His English was flavored with a foreign accent. Seras' eyes widened. Perhaps this was Edith's prince?

And then the floor manager* was standing in front of her, and she could feel her mother and the supposed prince's eyes on her.

"Miss Victoria, may I introduce the fifth Count Dracul of Wallachia?" The floor manager gestured to her, and then to the Count. Seras was struck dumb; for once, Edith had been right!

The Count dipped at the waist and extended his hand, peering up at her through long, glossy dark hair. Seras noticed that he hid his eyes behind a pair of darkened lenses. She thought it was rather odd for an evening ball, but perhaps he had a medical condition that prescribed for it. If not… well, he was foreign nobility, so such an offense could be easily brushed away. His status explained his less than modest embellishments as well.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Victoria." The Count said as the floor manager took his leave, satisfied that the exchange was perfectly polite. Seras shivered at the way the Count said her name but forced a shaky smile.

"It is a greater pleasure to meet you, My Lord." Seras replied, placing her hand lightly in his. His smile did not fade as he bent over it.

Instead of kissing the top of the back of her hand as custom dictated, he kissed the back of her wrist. Seras did not allow her smile to falter as he did so, but then – did he just sniff her?

No, the word "sniff" didn't do justice. Inhale better defined it. Seras only just resisted the urge to backhand him because he was a count and – although she would never admit it out loud – she might've just felt something shoot through her at his kiss.

No one else had seemed to notice the nobleman's less than savory greeting. Her mother was in a different world full of fantastical royal weddings, and the people milling around them only spared a curious glance every once in a while.

But Seras knew, and the smile that marred his face when he finally looked up told her that he knew she knew. What a creep.

"Mrs. Victoria," Count Dracul only let go of Seras' hand once he rose from his bow, much to her discomfort. But it wasn't as if Seras' mother had really cared to notice. "Might I ask your permission for the honor of your daughter's next dance?"

Seras felt a pang of pity for the Count now. Edith was engaged for all of the remaining dances and because she was off somewhere on the dance floor, he would have to be let down by her mother! What a dreadful way to be rejected, especially in a foreign land's court. But then this weirdo had just smelled her wrist, so she was kind of okay with throwing him at Edith. She'd wanted him in the first place anyway, not Seras.

Mrs. Victoria smiled brilliantly at the Count, and then at Seras. Seras felt something drop in the pit of her stomach. Oh no, he wasn't asking for her, was he?

"You needn't have asked, My Lord." Perhaps there was still a slight chance that they were talking about Edith.

The dreadful man smiled his awful smile again. It was dark and deep, and only grew more terrible when he turned to face Seras. His gaze never left hers even as he dipped into a bow at the waist. She absolutely hated the fact that she couldn't see his eyes. His darkened lenses left too many things to the imagination, and hers was too active for her own good.

"May I have the pleasure of this dance, Miss Victoria?" His etiquette was better than some of the born and bred English in the room. With a graceful flick of the wrist he took hold of her hand once more, never mind that she hadn't accepted yet.

She would, and they both knew it.

"The pleasure is mine, My Lord." Seras forced another uneasy smile on her face and reluctantly allowed herself to be pulled toward the dance floor, leaving her swooning mother behind.

A slow, dreamy waltz had just begun, and Seras thought it suited her situation quite well. Regardless of how intimidating and quietly terrifying the Count was, he was undoubtedly the most gorgeous person she had ever seen. Michelangelo had to have used him as a muse. But despite the Count's overbearing beauty, there was still something sinister to him.

They floated across the dance floor to the beat of the music, and Seras inwardly thanked God that she was a talented dancer. The Count was graced in the art and elegantly led them around the floor, oftentimes catching the admiring eye of a neighboring couple. But when they were almost half way into the dance and had yet to speak a word to each other, Seras grew anxious.

That stupid smile had never left his face though, so she'd take it as a sign of amusement, and amusement was better than nothing. On that note Seras decided to take initiative. Any conversation would prove to be less awkward than this silence.

"If I may dare to ask," Seras began, trying not to flinch when she felt the full brunt of his attention, "what inspired My Lord to make my acquaintance?" She really was curious why he asked her, of all the ladies at the ball, to dance.

The Count laughed, and Seras tensed. His smile matched his laugh.

"That old Duke was bothered that I hadn't danced yet this evening." The Count pulled Seras quite a bit too close to be proper before whispering to her as if it were some grave secret. Seras violently tried to restrain her blush – their faces were almost touching!

"So he recommended I danced with one of the wallflowers." She didn't miss the sardonic smile, and flushed with indignation. "Of course I was afraid that dancing with a wallflower would equate to dancing with someone…less than applicable."

With an offended snort she tried to pull away, but gasped when she felt the hand on the side of her waist tighten to the point of pain. She glared, and he only smiled in return. He loosened his grip only when she relented.

"So he and I scoured the room for a partner. He pointed out you, the daughter of his most trusted attorney. And I must say, my dear," His lips were scandalously close to her ear, "you are quite applicable."

Seras' eyes widened. At that moment, with his strong hold on her hip, his cool breath on her cheek, the smooth darkness of his voice, how close they stood – it was all too much. She felt her knees shake slightly, and the Count tighten his hold to support her. When had he become so seductive? When had she unwittingly fallen under his spell?

Suddenly Seras had nothing to say, and they simply drifted through the waltz. His hold on her waist shifted, and the spell was broken. Her eyes widened and her nostrils flared. Who did this man think he was? Titled or not, she was a respectable lady and did not deserve such treatment! Did he want to destroy her reputation and her family's prospects?

"How dare you!" She hissed, drawing her face closer to his. His smile never faltered. Her grip on his hand tightened, and to her irritation his did as well.

"I am no questionable lady, sir, and I will not allow any mistreatment regardless of your status!" And what a breach of status it was. She should've stopped talking a long time ago, but something told her that this man wouldn't tattle on her; if anything he seemed to enjoy her spite.

"I never questioned your reputation, Miss." His tone was oh so smug. "I merely stated that I found you an applicable dance partner." Seras wondered if the tips of her ears were red from anger or embarrassment.

"It was the implication then!"

"And what, pray tell, did you imagine I implied?" Their faces were once again so scandalously close.

Seras had a sudden heightened awareness of the strong, almost possessive grip of his hand on her lower back and the fact that her hand had been completely enveloped in his. She dared to glance around the room and much to her relief found that they had swayed to the edge of the floor, away from the crowd and out of the spotlight.

Of course, that didn't mean that there wasn't a possibility of someone watching them.

She pulled away, blushing like mad, and risked a glance at his face. Her breath caught in her throat.

All traces of playfulness had been swallowed up by a fierce glare, and any softness in his features had hardened to steel. His glower was thankfully not directed toward her but something past her head. His grip seemed to unconsciously tighten. Seras felt him slowly pull her closer to his chest, as if getting ready to spirit her away at a moment's notice.

…she really had to stop reading her mother's romance novels.

"My Lord?" She didn't bother to hide the irritation and confusion in her tone. His eyes darted back to her, but he didn't lessen his hold in the slightest.

"I thank you for the most wonderful dance, Miss Victoria." He was smiling that devious smile again, but his eyes were hard and cold. The song ended, and though he let go of her waist he kept a tight hold on her hand. He lead her like a lamb off the dance floor and weaved through throngs of diamond-strung ladies and clouds of expensive perfume til her mother and father came in to sight. But before Seras could approach them, the Count finally let go of her hand and quickly backpedalled to hover behind her.

"I look forward to making your acquaintance in the very near future, Miss Victoria." His lips grazed the shell of her ear before she spun around, only to find that he had already disappeared into the large crowd behind her. Seras narrowed her eyes. How strange. He certainly was a fast walker.

Seras took a deep breath and stood a little straighter as she walked to rejoin her parents. It was as if a cloud had lifted from over her head and she could finally breathe easy again.

"Oh, here she is!" Her mother was waving her over almost as soon as she caught sight of Seras to a small group. Her mother and father seemed to be speaking with quite peculiar people.

"Sir Hellsing, may I introduce you to my daughter, Seras Victoria?" A tall, intimidating towhead woman (in a pantsuit, of all things!) regarded her with polite disinterest as she took a puff from an expensive cigar – a cigar that should've been confiscated by the floor manager, but hadn't. Undoubtedly she was a noble, and a high-ranking one at that if she could wear and do whatever she very well wanted to.

"Seras, may I introduce Sir Hellsing?" Mr. Victoria introduced them with a calm attorney smile. Seras stared at the woman, a little dumbstruck, before leaping in to action.

"I-it's an honor to meet you, Sir Hellsing!" And why a woman was being addressed as "sir" Seras didn't know, but knew better then to ask. The woman took another puff of her cigar before handing it to what looked like some sort of personal butler. To Seras' surprise, Sir Hellsing looked only a few years older than her.

"Likewise. And this," Sir Hellsing replied briskly, gesturing toward the butler, "is my retainer, Walter." The older man smiled at Seras and gave a little bow. When it was clear that Sir Hellsing wasn't going to say anything else, he quickly stepped forward to gesture toward her father.

"Your father recently defended our organization against fraudulent suits. He's a very talented man." Walter said, effectively explaining what Seras needed to know so Sir Hellsing wouldn't have to.

"You're too kind, sir." Mr. Victoria gave a good-natured chuckle. There was a slight lapse in the conversation.

"Your mother mentioned you met the Count?" Sir Hellsing asked, suddenly focusing her total attention on Seras. Seras felt like she was under a microscope; the aristocrat seemed to be searching her for something, but kept on coming up with a blank.

"Yes, I had the last dance with him." Seras replied, not sure what Sir Hellsing was leading up to. Usually when ladies asked each other these types of questions they were attempting to establish who they'd have to be competing against for a man's affections, but Seras highly doubted Sir Integra was interested in such things.

"Did you happen to see which direction he took afterward?" Seras felt like she was being interrogated. What did this noble want with the Count, anyway? From the looks she and Walter were giving her, you would think that the Count had killed someone! Creep or not, Seras would feel bad for him if she set these two on his tail.

"No, I'm afraid I didn't." Seras answered, fighting to keep Sir Hellsing's stare. The aristocrat's eyes were icy blue behind clear glasses that only magnified their depths. It made Seras feel like Sir Hellsing could see right through her lie. Oh god, she hoped not. She never wanted to get on the bad side of anyone like Sir Hellsing.

The woman exchanged a glance with her retainer before nodding.

"No matter." She said evenly, though even Seras could plainly see that it did matter. The noble took another puff of her cigar before resting it in Walter's waiting hand.

"It was pleasure seeing you again, Mr. Victoria, Mrs. Victoria. I'll have Walter call on your office should we have use of your services again." Sir Hellsing addressed them curtly with a stiff smile. She turned back to Seras once again. "And it was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Victoria."

Seras curtsied. "The pleasure was mine, Sir Hellsing." Seras wasn't sure if she would take offense to "m'lady."

"Thank you Sir Hellsing, Mr. Dornez. I do hope you enjoy the rest of the ball." Mr. Victoria said as he shook Sir Hellsing's and then Walter's hand, handling the goodbyes for the ladies of his family as they curtsied.

"I wish you the same." Sir Hellsing replied before she and Walter disappeared into the crowd, much like the Count had done not so long ago.

Unlike the Count, Seras was able to watch them go.

[A/N]

Notes:

- The ton is a term commonly used to refer to Britain's high society during the Georgian and Victorian eras.

- From highest ranking to lowest ranking, the social ladder was as follows: Monarch, Royalty, Aristocracy, Gentry, Middle Class, Artisans and Trades people, Servants, Laboring Poor, and Paupers.

- At Victorian balls, ladies were given dance cards to fill with the names of gentlemen who they would dance a certain song with. The gentleman always had to make quite a show of asking the lady to dance, but if their introduction was proper the lady could never refuse no matter what the reason.

- If a man wanted to dance with a lady he was a stranger to and had no mutual acquaintances to make introductions, he asked the floor manager to introduce him. If the lady was still young, he had to ask her chaperone for permission before asking the lady to dance.

So… hello! Due to some personal reasons that I'd rather not get in to, I felt it best to delete my stories over the winter. However, now I feel it's best that I put Civilities back up and complete it. I'm excited, as I'll be taking this opportunity to hopefully improve the story and get rid of the typos and plot holes that were in the original! I'm hoping this version will turn out better than the last.

Thank you to all of you who sent such kind PMs and emails when the story was first deleted. It's nice to know so many of you cared so much! It doesn't take me very long to revise, so you can expect a rather frequent update schedule (probably daily) until we reach chapter twelve, where we'll return to the every other Monday update schedule.

Please let me know what you think of the revised chapter!

Until next time!

Della